


Top Line

by MajaLi



Series: Come Into My Parlor [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mpreg, OneGoalFic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajaLi/pseuds/MajaLi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick got the good news, but now he gets the GOOD news...and a few other things, as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top Line

**Author's Note:**

> Blame [thundersquall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall) #mpregmonster >.> Another for the OneGoal challenge!

Patrick gapes at the OB/GYN, all thoughts of the uncomfortably cold ultrasound gel on his stomach forgotten as his gaze flicks panickedly between her beaming face and the improbable, _impossible_ image on the screen between them.

“Triplets?” he repeats, hoarse and stunned. He’d thought maybe, faintly, in the back of his mind, that twins might be possible, his belly already starting to plump and round even though he’s only in his tenth week, but the rational part of him had written it off as wishful thinking or early signs of an alpha baby. (His mother had always said she’d known he’d be omega, even though she wouldn’t let the OB/GYN tell her, from the way it took him weeks to show, how he’d slipped out of her all small and easy, tiny compared to the sisters that came after.)

The OB/GYN nods. “Do you want me to...?”

“Yes,” Patrick says. “Oh my god, yes, can you go – Jonny! _Jonny!_ Get in here!”

Jonny slams through the door before the OB/GYN takes two steps; he must have been hovering in the hallway, just like Patrick had told him not to, knowing that if there was any...anything...knowing that he might need a few minutes to himself, before facing his mate. But now he’s frantic to have Jonny with him, and Jonny obliges, all but flinging himself onto the exam table.

“What is it, what is it?” he demands, grabbing at Patrick’s hands, eyes scanning his face, his belly, giving a little tell-tale twitch when he sees the OB/GYN’s hands still on Patrick’s skin. Patrick wrests one hand free to point at the ultrasound monitor. Jonny’s head snaps around immediately, lips parting as he struggles to process what he’s seeing. When he turns back, Patrick flushes red at the sight of tears in Jonny’s eyes, feeling like he’s going to spark right out of his skin with happiness.

“Triplets?” Jonny asks, and Patrick wonders if that’s how he’d sounded just moments earlier, all soft, broken wonder. Patrick nods, desperation replaced with a fullness in his chest and throat that he can’t even think about speaking past, can only swallow around and cling to Jonny, letting Jonny gather him close as he leaks heat and salt against Patrick’s temple.

“We’re still not getting that Humvee.”

\-- -- -- 

Afterwards – after the talk with the OB/GYN, and the early supplements from the nutritionist, and the drive home with Jonny’s hand laid protectively over Patrick’s belly at every red light – Patrick curls up on the sofa to watch Jonny putter around in the kitchen, tossing together bowls of pasta and chicken and chopped, sauteed spinach. He wrinkles his nose as he watches Jonny sprinkle nutritional yeast on his, and he must make a sound, because Jonny turns to him, eyebrows raised.

“Parm,” Patrick whines, making grabby hands at his mate. Jonny laughs and obediently fetches the plastic shaker out of the fridge, balancing it in the crook of his elbow as he carries both bowls into the living room. “I still don’t know how you can eat that stuff.”

“Mmmm,” Jonny croons, exaggerated, smirking through a huge bite of pasta. “B vitamins, delicious.”

“ _Blerch._ ” Patrick wrinkles his nose again and pops the top off the parmesan, dumping a good couple tablespoons over his pasta, and then a couple more, just for Jonny.

“You could mix them?” Jonny suggests. “Not right this minute, just, in general.”

Patrick glares and boops Jonny on the nose with the parmesan shaker. Jonny boops him right back, which leads to an all-out boop war that Patrick is doomed to lose from the start, because Jonny is a professional athlete and, therefore, a competitive motherfucker even around his _pregnant_ , omega mate. Patrick points this out from where he’s pinned on his back underneath Jonny, but it just makes Jonny smugly and nose into Patrick’s neck.

“Very pregnant,” he mutters, lips dragging hotly against Patrick’s skin and making him shiver, raise his legs to wrap around Jonny’s waist. “Pregnant with triplets, babe, fuck. Put a whole damn litter in you.”

“ _Yeah_ you did.” Patrick’s laugh stutters off into a gasp when Jonny digs his teeth in, worrying a patch of skin on the edge of Patrick’s jaw until Patrick can feel the blood blooming beneath the surface. He rolls his hips upward, riding Jonny’s abs until Jonny gets the message and lets a little more of his weight drop down onto Patrick, giving him the friction he craves for a few, perfect moments before pulling back. He slides through the crook of Patrick’s knees and pushes his shirt up, fingertips tracing briefly over one nipple before he presses a kiss to Patrick’s stomach, just under his belly button.

“Gonna stay right here, kay?” He kisses the same spot again, then drops his hand down to pull at the waist of Patrick’s yoga pants. Patrick’s barely started to chub up, and Jonny’s light callouses are almost too much against his sensitive skin as he wraps his hand around and pulls gently, coaxing Patrick along. His slick comes quicker, the first drips spilling out of him and staining his pants before Jonny drags them down to his knees.

“Should have known.” Jonny smiles, pleased with himself, and drags a finger over Patrick’s hole, matching the motion with the drag of his tongue over Patrick’s belly, from the base of his cock up to his belly button. “So full of me and still wanting more.” He pushes the finger in, opening Patrick up easily and cajoling the first beads of precome to dribble from Patrick’s cock. Jonny ducks his head to lap them up, Patrick’s thighs tensing as he fights not to thrust up.

“Go ahead,” Jonny urges, “fuck my face.” So Patrick does, hips stuttering messily, shoving up against Jonny’s soft, open mouth, the curve of his cheek, the high, patrician ridge of his nose. The whole time, Jonny keeps working his finger in and out; Patrick can feel himself opening, getting looser and wetter, even though Jonny’s not doing anything to stretch him, and the knowledge that Jonny was so very right about what Patrick’s body wants makes his cheeks burn. It’s not enough to stop him, though, not nearly, and especially not when Jonny sticks his tongue out, curling it down over his lower lip so that Patrick can push the length of his cock over that wet heat.

“Fuck _me_.” Patrick’s gasp as his hips speed up is half interjection, half plea, but either way Jonny ignores it, turning his head so that Patrick’s cock slides past his cheek on his next thrust. He presses his lips to Patrick’s stomach and nips gently, soothing Patrick’s whine by wrapping his hand around his cock again, grip perfect now with the extra slide of precome and Jonny’s own spit.

“Nope.” As if Jonny’s actions weren’t enough, he has to match them with words, breath heating the skin of Patrick’s belly and cooling it just as quickly where his tongue has left damp trails. “Told you, m’staying right here. Gonna get you off like this this, wanna feel you move here – ” he presses his lips a little higher, where the ripple of Patrick’s abs is still visible “ – when you come around my fingers, around my babies inside you.”

And that’s all it takes, because Patrick’s been a sucker for Jonny’s voice since the first time he heard his victory whoop through the television speakers. He comes, obedient, like Jonny’s dragged it out of him, spilling over the hand stroking him as Jonny rubs his belly with the other, murmuring words of praise. “So good,” he says, and “so sweet,” and “so beautiful, babe, can’t wait to taste you.” He makes good on it, too, licking Patrick’s come off his fingers, then off the head of Patrick’s cock, the wet rasp of his tongue against tender skin making Patrick shudder and spurt again, nerves singing with the aftershocks.

Jonny only gives him as long to recover as it takes to shuck off his jeans, sitting up between Patrick’s legs and shimmying out of them, immediately nudging the head of his cock against Patrick’s hole. Patrick keens high and soft in the back of his throat as Jonny pushes in, too slack from orgasm to clench around him; he can only take what Jonny has to give, reaching up to dig his nails into Jonny’s forearms planted on either side of his head.

“Take it,” Jonny urges, echoing Patrick’s thoughts. “Take it, sweetheart, love seeing you all full of my cock.” His head dips, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as he pushes his forward and back, before he drags them open again, fixed on the stretch of Patrick’s hole around him. “Filled you up with my cock and come, and now you’re gonna be full of my babies, too.” He’s talking half to Patrick and half to himself as he drags one hand down Patrick’s chest, splays it over his stomach. “Gonna swell up right here, get all round and stuffed, barely gonna be any room for my cock in you, anymore. But you’ll still take it, won’t you?”

Patrick groans in answer, already picturing it – the way Jonny will have to put him on his side, his belly too heavy to lie comfortably on his back, or maybe on his hands and knees with the swell of it hanging down under him, in easy reach for Jonny to stroke and pet. The thought makes his cock stir again, eager and impatient; Jonny snorts when he sees it stiffen between Patrick’s legs again but strokes his thumb over the head, pushing it down and fucking into Patrick a little harder so it rubs against his abs. Patrick’s leaking everywhere now, precome spilling out of his cock and slick dripping from inside him, a thin thread of drool dripping from his open mouth onto the sofa cushions as Jonny works him deeper. He’s pressed so close that Patrick’s hips are hiked up into his lap, bouncing Patrick on his dick as Patrick gasps and hooks one hand over the top of the sofa, desperate for something to cling to, to ground him. Jonny puts a stop to that quickly, though, dragging Patrick’s hand to his face so he can pull two of Patrick’s fingers into his mouth. When they’re thoroughly wetted, he lets them go, lets Patrick’s hand drop back down onto his chest.

“Play with your tits for me, babe,” he directs, voice ragged as he thrusts speed up. “Gonna have to get them ready soon, get them used to it, or you’ll never survive nursing triplets...”

“Fuuuuuck.” The word spills out of Patrick on a long breath as he obeys, rubbing his slick fingers over one nipple before catching it between his thumb and forefinger, savoring the slight burn as he pinches and twists. “S’good, Jonny, it’s so good.”

“ _Yeah_ it is.” Jonny echoes Patrick’s words from earlier on a shivery laugh. His forehead is bright red, the same patch that lights up where his helmet presses against it during every game; his hands clutch around Patrick’s hips, hard enough to leave bruises that Patrick will fit his fingers into later, hanging on for dear life as he drives up and up and suddenly stiffens, head tipping back as his knot swells up inside Patrick. The rush of pressure makes Patrick’s muscles lock tight, forcing a second orgasm out of him with a half-pained grunt as he locks around the intrusion, trapped on Jonny’s cock.

Jonny starts to fall forward, but catches himself on his elbows, huffing as he uses the cushions to lever himself up right. He pulls Patrick up as well, the shift of his knot inside drawing out a gasp of pleasure, then tips back so that they’re nestled in the crook of the sofa.

"Think we can fit one more?"

Patrick grins.

"Go for it."


End file.
